


this sinking boat

by carefulren



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Beginning of season 3, Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Whump, and Martin just trying to be the pure soul he is, very very tired Tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Melanie's annoyed that Tim's doing more sleeping than working, and Martin tries to comfort a sick and tired Tim.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	this sinking boat

“What’s the deal with that Tim guy anyway?” 

Brows furrowed, Martin peeks over a file he’s got held up close to his eyes as if the closer to his pupils, the easier he will understand the jumbled follow-up research. “Sorry. What do you mean?” He winces when Melane sighs loudly acrorss from him, her own hands tightening around the tape recorder she snagged from Martin’s desk. 

“I mean all he does is mumble under his breath, snap at people, and then he sulks off to the cot.” 

Melanie’s aggravation, Martin thinks, is understandably warranted, valid, and he carefully sets the file down before him, a muted huff of breath slipping past his lips. “Look, Melanie, a lot’s happened, and everyone’s working under a lot of stress right now. With Jon-”

“-missing, possibly wanted for murder-”

“-he didn’t muder anyone!” Martin doesn’t realize he’s slammed his hands against his desk until the burning sting begins to coat his palms. He swallows against the bubbling frustration creeping up his throat, his face a red mixture of embarassment and anger. “Sorry,” he sputters smally. “Everything’s just a lot.” His voice falls to a whisper, and Melanie’s posture eases up. 

“I may not fully understand what you all have gone through, but until Jon’s back, there’s a lot of work that apparently needs to get done. And, Tim-”

“-I’ll talk to him.” Martin slips to his feet, smoothing his hands down his shirt because he’s not sure what else to do with them, not with Melanie staring down at him with an expression he can’t quite pick apart. 

“Is he-”

“-sleeping on the cot for the fourth time this week? Yep.” Melanie answers, popping the ‘p.’ She stalks off, offering a single nod toward Martin, before closing the door of her office, and Martin waits until he can hear her recording before he leaves to find Tim. 

The door’s closed when he arrives, and he offers two courtsey knocks, eyes rolling at the gravely “go away” that comes from the other side. 

“Tim,” he calls out softly as he nudges the door open. “It’s Martin.” 

“Okay,” Tim drags out lowly. “Go away, _Martin_.” 

Martin slips into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He can’t keep the frown the pulls tightly at his lips when he spots Tim lying flat on his back with one arm draped over his eyes. Though obscured, he can still make out how pale Tim’s face is, the few worm scars that are visible standing out a stark gray against washed out skin. 

“Are you okay?” 

The sigh that slips past Tim’s clenched teeth is loud and long, as if he’s expelling a year’s worth of swollen stress that’s been pressed against his lungs. “You’re still here.” 

“Well, yeah,” Martin stutters lightly, fingers pulling against the sleeves of his sweater. “I’m worried about you, Tim.” 

“Oh, save it.” Tim drags out, voice weak but edging a dangerous line. He lifts his arm and heaves himself into a sitting position, throwing his legs over the side until they hit the floor, and he glares hard when Martin gasps loudly across from him. 

“Tim, you look terrible!” Tim’s face, now fully visble, looks sunken in, his cheeks almost as hollow as his eyes. Beads of sweat line his temples, and his hair, normally styled neatly, is lying flat, a few strands sticking to his forehead. The dark circles painted under his eyes appear almost black against his ghostly white skin, and for a moment, Martin considers how many times he’s seen Jon like this, and he silently curses this place for draining people of what little energy they can muster as soon as they walk into this damned building. 

“What do you want, Martin? It’s Melanie’s turn to record.” 

“I came to check on you,” Martin answers as if it’s the most prominetly obvious statement in the world. “You’ve been coming in here to rest a lot. I just wanted to see if you were alright.” 

“Am I alright?” Tim laughs, weak, bitter. “Do I look alright to you, Martin? I haven’t slept since...” His voice falters, the stained image of the body on the archives floor redrawing itself once more in his mind. “Not to mention all of the absolutely insane supernatural shit that happened that I’m still not sure was real or not.” He rakes his fingers roughly through his hair, grimacing at the hot, damp sweat clinging to each strand. “And Sasha-” his voice cracks, and Martin’s quick to take a seat beside him, offering a warm, steady hand to his shoulder. 

Tim hunches forward away from Martin’s hand, elbows dropping to his knees and face falling into his cupped hands. “I just don’t know how much more I can take of this, and yet, I feel overwhelmingly nauseous when I even consider quitting.” 

Martin drops his hand to his lap, and his eyes cast to the floor. He understands completely how Tim feels, and because of this, he can’t concoct a single sentence that would even remotely touch the pain that’s been brewing within Tim since Jon’s disappeared, leaving behind a dead body in his office. 

“What can I do?” He asks instead, knowing that, more than ever, he and Tim need to stick together, to lean on each other while they struggle to wrap their minds around what’s real and what’s not. 

Tim sits up with another, long sigh, and he turns toward Martin, exhaustion pulling so evidently at his face. On instinct, Martin reaches out and gently brushes the back of his hand to Tim’s cheek, not surprised at the damp heat. 

“I really just need some time away. I need to sleep. I can’t keep... thinking about this place.” 

“I’ll tell Elias you’re ill,” Martin says, pulling his hand away. “You’re feverish, and you look like you could faint any second now, so it wouldn’t be a lie in the slightest.” 

“What about you?” Though feeling poorly himself, Tim can’t ignore the stress lines etched in Martin’s face, or the numerous times he’s caught Martin sighing almost longingly at the archives door. “You’ll drive yourself into ground.” 

“I’m okay,” Martin smiles, small, but genuine, and the look that colors his eyes is bright, determined. “I don’t know what happened that day, but I know that Jon didn’t murder that man, and while I don’t know where he is, I’m going to do what I can here to help, even if that just means picking up the slack until he comes back.” 

“You’re unbeliaveble.” Tim slips to his feet with a small shake of the head, his mind immediately pulling in all directions, wavering his vision, and he brings a hand to his head just as Martin jumps to his feet and plants a steady hand to his back. 

“Easy, Tim. Should I phone for help?” 

“No, just...” Tim groans, his jaw clenched tightly, “give me a moment.” He breathes through his swimming vision, willing his heart, that’s thumping so loudly in his ears, to settle, and after an endless moment where’s he’s not entirely sure he won’t wake up on the floor, the pain in his head eases to a dull drum along his temples. 

“Will you tell Elias that I’ll be back in a few days?” 

“I’ll tell him you’re running a fever and will be back when you’re well, even if that takes a week.” Martin stands firm with his statement, and Tim smiles tiredly at him, dropping one hand to his shoulder and offering a weak squeeze. 

“Thanks, Martin. And, sorry... for unloading all of this on you.” He waves his hand about weakly and starts out the door with Martin at his side.

“You know you can always talk to me, Tim.”

“I suppose I can,” Tim mutters softly. He starts toward his office to grab his things, stopping when Martin, who’s stayed back, calls out to him. 

“I’ll swing by after work with dinner. Is soup okay?” 

“Does it come with bedside poetry reading?” 

For the first time in what feels like countless incredibly long, drawn out years, Tim laughs, warm and genuine, as Martin’s face flushes an imposibly deep red, and Martin starts sputtering, nervous, shocked. 

“T-Tim! How did you... Did you find my tapes!?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I kept thinking about how much Tim says "I need to lie down" in the beginning of season 3, and I wanted to explore it and just bring some fluff because Tim's making me sad. Martin's making me sad. Basically everyone's making me sad.. Except Elias. He stays making me mad. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated :)
> 
> (Come say hi on tumblr! @toosicktoocare)
> 
> (Title Taken from "Falling Slowly" from the Broadway Musical "Once")


End file.
